Really? Quit a job because a number appears on some paperwork? What does this guy really think, that Satan is in charge of the company and somehow wants to steal this guy's soul without his knowledge, but somehow Satan is so stupid that he puts this random number on the W2 form to tip this guy off that his soul is about to be stolen...

Don't you have to give, or sell, your soul to Satan? I didn't think he could just take them by starting a business and claiming the souls of his employees without their knowledge. And if he can, wouldn't the "Father of Lies" be able to lie convincingly enough to keep this number off of the paperwork?

He obviously did it for attention, probably trying to one-up his friends and family. Oh, look what a good Christian I am, I am such a good Christian that I quit over the number of the beast. Nyah nyah, I'm better than all other Christians.

The worst part is that his company wants him back and is reprinting his W2 and banning the number from all possible uses within the company.

By the way, the number of the beast is 666, not 00666.

"Whores perform the same function as priests, but far more thoroughly." - Robert A. Heinlein

I once knew a nice old guy named Larry. Larry had lost one of two sons in a car accident sometime in the early '80s, and it sent him on a downward spiral which would last over 20 years. The loss of his son tore his marriage apart and the subsequent divorce seperated him from the only son he had left. For a long time, he roamed from place to place; trying to maintain some semblance of a life, but never staying long enough to get his roots in the ground. Eventually, Larry ended up homeless. After sleeping in abandoned cars and underneath bridges, he eventually checked in to one of the various shelters set up around the state. During the day, he roamed about town; stopping to browse in bookstores and supermarkets - not with the intent of buying anything (he had nothing to spend), but simply to be in air-conditioning on hot Summer afternoons.

Then, one day, Larry met Jackie; a skinny red-headed guy who drove the supply truck for our town's school system. Jackie, being the incredibly well-meaning human being that he is, got Larry a job working for the schools. Being a custodian in our town doesn't pay much - only about 6-9 dollars an hour (depending on seniority and position) - but it was money that Larry didn't otherwise have. I was charged with teaching him the basics; how to properly clean a toilet, how to dry-mop a hallway, etc. But because Larry didn't have a car, I opted to drive him to and from work so he didn't have to spend what little money he had on a taxi. For the first several months, I drove him to and from the homeless shelter where he spent his nights with 5 other men in a home paid for by the state.

After many months of living in the shelter, Larry announced that he had saved enough money to get a lease on an apartment. For the next year, he slowly climbed the financial ladder; eventually taking in enough money to purchase his own groceries and, eventually, to buy himself a new car. Larry had picked himself up from 20+ years of slithering across rock-bottom and ascended the long ladder of reinvention to find himself back on top with the rest of the 9-to-5 society. His son rarely visited him and his wife never spoke to him again, but it didn't matter, because he had earned his way back to a normal life.

One day, as Larry was hard at work in his designated section of the school, our boss Mike stopped by for a friendly chat. Mike told Larry that even though he was doing a great job, there had been some complaints from a teacher regarding the emptying of her trash cans. It was a minor reprimand, and after patting him on the back, Mike went on his way; confident that Larry would simply make an effort to keep better track of his trash-emptying routine. But Larry did not take the news very well. I still don't know the extent of his reasons, but that mild complaint prompted Larry to set his keys on his supervisor's desk, clock out, and walk home for good. Soon, his rent began to stack up. His landlord was kind enough to give him an extension for several weeks until he could get his affairs in order, but that never came to pass and he was forced to kick Larry out of the apartment. With my help, Larry applied to several jobs around town, but was always met with rejection, and eventually had to sell his car in order to sustain himself. After that shallow well ran dry, I did my best to sustain him within reason, but even my efforts became futile. The last I heard of him, Larry was hooked to an oxygen tank in a homeless shelter out of town; waiting to die or hit rock-bottom once again. Whichever came first.

Until today, I thought Larry was the stupidest motherfucker for quitting his job, because his reasoning was absurd. The OP's story blows Larry out of the water.

I used to work at a phone company and we would get switch generated phone numbers for people's lines. Once in a while 666 would come up in someone's # and sure enough, people people were assholes about it.

I can't tell you how many people I had to "handle" who were all fucked up about their evil #. Asian people would also get freaked out by the # 4... a 6 or a 2 is good but never 4... it's the death # - apparently it sounds like death when pronounced. However they loved 666!

I once got a goth paraphernalia shop who actually requested 666 in their number. Shit, when you're trying for it, it's hard to get.

A new type of thinking is essential if mankind is to survive and move to higher levels. ~ Albert Einstein